


We're All Rogues Here

by juurensha



Series: Rogue Squad Stories [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Battle of Scarif, Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 05:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10529562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juurensha/pseuds/juurensha
Summary: In which Bodhi figures out that despite being an ex-Imperial pilot, he's probably the most normal one here.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I wanted to write a Bodhi centered fic (and some more Chirrut/Baze because I love them), and my friend wanted a pre-battle of Scarif fic with the crew just drinking and talking and Bodhi being like omg, how am I the most normal person here, so here's the results of that. It veers a bit between sad and funny, and I hope there was an okay balance there.

The rebel base is busy, with people in orange flight-suits and gear running back and forth, and Bodhi gets a lot of side-eyes, which he guesses is to be expected, since he is still in grey Imperial uniform in the middle of the command center of the Rebellion, but at least no one is shooting at him, putting bags over his head, or throwing weird monsters at him, so it is still ten times better than the welcome he received at Saw Guerrar’s base.

Still, he can feel all the stares on his back, and it is an unnerving, prickling sensation kind of like—

Well, the less said about Saw’s base the better.

“Are you alright?” Cassian Andor asks, coming up from behind him and frowning.

“—yeah,” he replies, rubbing his arms quickly, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“If you’re sure,” Cassian says doubtfully.

The ex-imperial (maybe they should form a club) droid clanked over, “If you’re truly worried Cassian, call over a medical droid,” it said in as bored of a tone as he had ever heard a droid use.

“No, if you don’t think you need one, just—” Cassian paused before saying quickly, “If you’ve changed your mind about piloting us to Scarif tomorrow—”

“No,” Bodhi interrupted, voice high with indignation, “No, I’m going to see this through! If you have some issues with my piloting skills—”

“Your piloting skills are fine; you did a fine job on Eadu,” Cassian reassured him.

The K-2SO unit made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sniff, “A _passable_ job, I suppose.”

Cassian gave the droid a narrow eyed look, “The point is, Scarif—it’s going to be rough.”

“I know that, but—look, Jedha was my _home_ , okay, so—” Bodhi broke off, looking down at the ground.

(Jedha is _gone._

He still—It doesn’t feel possible. It doesn’t feel real.

The kebab shop he had frequented before he had gotten too many dirty looks for his uniform, the scarred but stalwart Temple of Whilis, the crowded marketplace, his childhood home, the bands of mystics and miscreants—

How could they _all_ be gone?)

He shook his head quickly, rubbing his shaking hands together, “—They have to be stopped,” he said finally.

Cassian nodded slowly, “Agreed.”

(There was a time when all he wanted to do was get away from Jedha and fly, and the Empire was both his ticket out of there and a way to support his mother.  

It actually wasn’t even that long ago, but then he made friends with an eccentric scientist and stood by and watched too much of what the Empire actually does. Then his mother passed away, and he finally decided that he had nothing left to lose.

It feels like a lifetime.)

“Hey, have you eaten yet?” Cassian asked, looking at him worriedly.

Bodhi blinked and shook his head (when _had_ his last meal been?), “No—is there a cantina or something here?”

“Here, this way,” Cassian said, motioning for Bodhi to follow him as the K-2SO unit clanked down a corner that looked much like all the others.

His long neglected stomach has rumbled to life, and it’s not like he has any other options (although he has no idea why the captain was being so friendly), so he follows Cassian and the droid down a long patched-up hallway to reveal a room with battered tables and chairs and some slowly simmering giant cauldrons of stew and boxes of ration bars at the center. Sitting at one of the tables was the Guardian and his armored companion, the Guardian chatting amiably with Jyn Erso as his friend cleaned a gun.

The Guardian waved them over, “The ration bars are passable, the stew is slop,” he declared, scooting over to make room for them and nudging his silent friend with his elbow to move over as well.

Cassian sits next to Baze, K-2S0 sits next to Cassian, and so there is only room for Bodhi to sit across from Jyn, so he does so and immediately regrets it because her resemblance to Galen while not immediately obvious, is there.

(Something in the stubborn set of the jaw and the eyes. It’s odd to finally meet the person he has heard so many stories about, in the same situation as how he had met Galen, in a cantina, mulling over terrible food choices.

That’s another person who is gone now, who he can no longer turn to and ask for advice and guidance.

Galen had sent him to Saw because he had said that was the man he had entrusted with his daughter’s life. He had told him a lot about his daughter, telling misty-eyed stories of her pluck and courage, but given that his stories about Saw turned out to be somewhat misleading, at least for ex-Imperial pilots, he’s not sure how much he actually knows about the dark-eyed girl sitting in front of him.)

Still, as he grabs a ration bar and munches on it (it wasn’t great, but it was about what the Empire gave their cargo pilots anyway. It might even be the same brand, stolen from some Imperial compound) the Guardian talks enough for perhaps five people, so the possible awkward bubble of silence never occurs.

“The stew is a bit like the one on Iridonia, don’t you think?” Chirrut asked his friend.

His walking armory of a friend snorted, “It’s not nearly as bad as that.”

“That’s because you were too busy arguing with the cook that there was no way the thing you had just bought was an egg-tart,” Chirrut said, leaning back easily.

“It wasn’t,” Baze said darkly, glancing at Bodhi, “Kid, back me up here. Egg-tarts shouldn’t use ground weevils as flour for the base.”

Bodhi blinked (hadn’t Baze tried to kill him? But then again, probably the entire base would have attempted to murder him back in that fetid cell, not knowing that he had turned his back on the Empire already.

He can’t say he blames anyone, with what he now knows what he was party to).

Baze is still looking at him expectantly so he blurts out, “Yeah, no, ground weevils would make it too crumbly—wouldn’t it fall apart?”

Baze nods in satisfaction, glancing at Chirrut, “See? I told you it was tragic.”

“What’s tragic is the lack of things to drink,” Chirrut replies, waving a hand at the empty table.

Jyn quietly slips a bottle of what looked like Tevraki whiskey out of her jacket and set it on the table.

“Where did you get _that?”_ Bodhi asked, wide-eyed, grabbing the bottle and turning it around in his hands.

(It definitely _looked_ like a genuine Tevraki label, not that he’d ever seen one in person.)

“Yes, _where_ did you get that?” Cassian asked darkly, crossing his arms.

“Where do you think?” Jyn asked flippantly, leaning back, “I found it.”

“Cassian, there’s a 97% chance that this is from the loot we captured from the Imperial base on Pantora,” K-2S0 announced in what was an amazingly aggrieved tone for a droid.

Cassian narrows his eyes at Jyn who just shrugs, “Coincidence?” she suggests.

“A beautiful coincidence it is,” Chirrut declares, neatly swiping the bottle from Bodhi’s hands, “Now all we need is something to drink it from.”

“Picky,” Baze grunted as he unearthed dusty glasses from one of the crates around them and set them with a clink on the table.

Chirrut raised an eyebrow, “Need I remind you of the time you drank that swill out of a bottle on Ando—”

“ _You_ were the one who insisted on turning it into a drinking contest,” Baze cut in.

“The smell of hoi-broth haunts us still,” Chirrut mock-whispered to the table as he gently tossed the bottle back to Bodhi who managed to catch it.

(Maybe his nerves weren’t quite as shot as he had feared)

“What about _me?”_ K-2SO complained as Cassian handed Bodhi a bottle-opener.

Cassian sighed although his mouth twisted into a small smile as he rummaged around in the crates before pulling out a small canister and handing it to the droid, “High-grade oil, happy?”

K-2SO picked up the canister and held it up to the light as his optic sensors whirred, “It’ll do, I guess,” he said begrudgingly, “If you people haven’t mislabeled everything again.”

“Then we’re all set!” Chirrut said happily, taking the bottle that Bodhi had just opened and pouring himself a glass, “And I propose that the prize of this contest shall be—”

“No drinking contests,” Baze said firmly as he took the bottle out of Chirrut’s hands and poured himself a glass.

Chirrut literally pouted (the blind man was definitely turning his childhood ideas of the stoic, silent Guardians of Whilis on their heads), and Jyn also frowned.

“If we didn’t have a mission tomorrow, I would beat all of you,” she said, chin held high and eyes glancing around defiantly.

(Ah—and in that gleam of defiance, Bodhi can see Galen’s daughter clear as day)

“So you say, little sister,” Baze said with an indulgent smile, toasting her with his glass, “But probably not before Chirrut started a brawl.”

“This is true,” Chirrut said easily, holding out his glass as a toast, “To Jedha, and all the bars we have been banned from.”

“Because of _you_ ,” Baze amended before clinking his glass against Chirrut’s, “To Jedha.”

“To Jedha,” the all echo and take a shot, even K-2SO.

(To Jedha, and to everything that he has left behind and will leave behind)

“Have you two ever managed to get out of a bar without a fight?” Bodhi asked curiously, looking between the two.

Chirrut paused and looked up at the ceiling while ticking off fingers as Baze rolled his eyes.  

“There was that one time with—”

“No, you always say that, but you punched someone on the way out,” Baze replied, not even looking up from pouring more whiskey into his glass.

“What about that time on Mon Cala—”

“What, you think it doesn’t count just because it was underwater?”

“Oh,” Chirrut brightened and looped an arm around Baze’s shoulders, “How about—”

“We’ve been over this; while routing a cell of Imperial spies is good, it’s more of an anniversary present to you than to me,” Baze said, downing another shot of whiskey.

“Wait,” Cassian said, setting his drink down, “Was this on Aleen?”

“Indeed,” Chirrut said happily, “And a very fine anniversary we had there!”

“We had reports that a blind monk and a mercenary took out our target there—that was you guys?” Cassian asked, sitting back and propping up his arm on the table.

“I believe you owe us more drinks,” Baze said dryly, refilling his glass.

“That we probably do,” Cassian said ruefully, taking the glass, “Although you guys owe us a few credits.”

K-2SO sighed sadly, “All that poison was not cheap.”

Baze nods and says darkly, “Would have made a good example.”

(And there briefly, was a flicker of the rage that had Bodhi’s first impression of the armored man. Even lost in the fractured fragments of his memories, he had noticed the scream of wrath and the man shaking at the bars next to him, killing intent clear on his face.

And now here they are, about to fight side by side.

Life is weird.)

“I don’t know, getting their asses handed to them by a blind guy didn’t do wonders for their reputation,” Cassian said with a shrug and a sip of whiskey.

Chirrut sniffed, “It’s not every day anyone gets to face a Guardian of Whilis. They should be _honored,_ ” he declared, tossing back his glass.

“They should,” Baze agreed, clinking his glass against Chirrut’s.

“You two are possibly the most nauseating set of organics I have met,” K-2SO said seriously, sipping his vial of oil.

Chirrut nodded, “We do try.”

“I don’t know, K, do you remember that Pa’lowick singer and that Hutt?” Cassian asked, swirling the whiskey in his cup.

“No, because I deleted those files,” the droid replied flatly.

“Baze, we’re losing; that’s unacceptable,” Chirrut complained, throwing himself into Baze’s lap.

Baze simply shifted to accommodate Chirrut’s weight and moved his glass over, “We’re obviously better looking,” he said, kissing the side of Chirrut’s head.

“You all look the same to me,” K-2SO groused.

 As the rest of them squabbled away, Jyn turned to Bodhi.

“How are you holding up?” she asked, fiddling with the glass in her hands.

“Fine,” he said warily, “It’s—well, we’re going to end it one way or another tomorrow, aren’t we?”

(One good thing, that won’t make up for what happened before, but at least will prevent more bad things from happening.)

“Take every chance you can get,” Jyn said quietly, before looking up, “I’m sorry for what happened with Saw.”

“It’s not your fault,” Bodhi said with a shrug.

“Did—did my father send you to him?” she asked, biting her lip.

Bodhi nodded, “He said that Saw had helped him get away from the Empire before, and he could help me. Guess he’d changed since Galen last saw him.”

Jyn shifted in her seat, looking back down at the table, “Saw—I haven’t seen him in a long time, and—”

“—not what you’d expected?” he asked after Jyn had sat in silence for several minutes.

“He had always been harsh, but—they say a long time ago, when his sister was alive, he was different. He said once said that if Stella had still been alive, she would have already led us all to victory. I don’t know,” she said with a shrug and tipped back her head to gulp down a shot of whiskey, “Saw, my own father—I don’t think I knew either of them that well in the end.”

“I don’t know, you were the one he really wanted the message to go to,” Bodhi said, looking at the cup in his hands.

Jyn let out a short harsh laugh, “Then he had more faith in me than I did in him. I thought he was a traitor. I thought he was a traitor for _years.”_

“How were you supposed to know otherwise?” Bodhi asked, tilting his head, “Besides—he knew that. Or at least he was pretty sure that that was how everyone saw him.”

“He _knew—_ did you guys talk a lot?” she asked, looking at him wide-eyed.

He nodded, “Some—I think he was really lonely out there, since I was just a cargo pilot that was making supply drops and refueling there. He talked about you a lot.”

“I doubt I’m what you expected from those stories,” she said, a wry smile playing on her mouth.

“Well—you’re a bit different from what I expected,” he admitted, taking a drink, “But he always said you were brave and—that part checks out.”

She sat there staring at her drink for a while before saying quietly, “I’m glad you were his friend.”

(And where would he be without Galen? He certainly wouldn’t be sitting here in a Rebel base, sharing drinks with some of the Empire’s Most Wanted.

He just wishes Galen was here to share in the absurdity of the situation as well.)

“So am I,” he says, bringing his cup up, “To Galen Erso.”

Jyn clinks her cup against his, “To Galen Erso,” she says, giving him a small smile.

They sit like that awhile before Cassian looks over from where Baze is trying to prevent Chirrut from climbing onto the table and K-2SO is watching with what Bodhi would call malicious glee (who programmed this droid?).

“More whiskey?” he asks, proffering the bottle at them.

“Better take it before Chirrut causes some kind of fight,” Baze advised over his shoulder, still trying to grab at Chirrut’s robes, “Things always get smashed.”

“You can totally throw stuff at me, and I can knock them away!” Chirrut said earnestly to them and some curious Rebels wandering by their table.

“Light-weight?” Jyn asked sympathetically, propping an arm up on the table.

Baze shook his head, rolling his eyes, “Sadly, no. He just gets like this because he is a fight-crazy idiot.”

“No, I just like a _challenge_ ,” Chirrut protested, easily swatting away a cup one of the Rebels lobbed at him with his staff.

“This is like my twenty-third birthday,” Jyn said, leaning her head against her hand and watching Chirrut with unabashed fascination.

“The alcohol?” Cassian asked.

“The throwing things,” Jyn said as Chirrut whacked a barrage of cups and forks away.

Cassian nods, taking another drink, “Sounds about right.”

“That is how 84% of our experiences with the alcohol end too,” K-2SO says in an almost cheery tone, “And then there’s usually dead bodies.”

Jyn nods, and Bodhi looks at them in disbelief.

“Why am I an ex-Imperial pilot and yet the most normal one here?” he asked.

“Welcome to the Rebellion; we’re all rogues here,” Cassian said, slinging one arm over his shoulder and one arm over Jyn’s.

“Oh god, you’re a huggy drunk aren’t you,” Jyn grumbled, but didn’t bother to throw Cassian’s arm off.

“That he certainly is,” K-2SO affirmed, nudging Cassian’s foot.

“I am completely normal,” Cassian said indignantly, kicking his feet out, “Everyone is just so great, that’s all.”

And everyone was really great for the rest of the night, with Chirrut juggling things that people threw at him, Baze rolling his eyes, Cassian cuddling with Jyn and Bodhi, and K-2SO saying increasingly snarky things about them all. After that, it got a bit hazy. He thinks that the rebels started up a sing-along, or maybe that was part of the dream Bodhi had. He’s pretty sure he fell asleep before Cassian fell over and K-2SO decided to put them all to bed (although he does vaguely remember Baze dragging a singing and still swinging Chirrut off by the collar of his robes) as Jyn tells him the next day while handing him some stims.

“Thanks,” he says, cracking his neck after feeling the rush of adrenaline kick in, “You didn’t steal these off of contraband, did you?”

“No, Cassian broke into official rebel stores for us,” Jyn replied, her mouth quirking up as she stood up.

“Thank the Force for that,” Bodhi said with feeling (bootleg stims always wore off at the worst possible moment)

“You’re welcome,” Cassian said, walking up with K-2SO clanking behind him, “Ready?”

“As I will ever be,” Bodhi said, glancing around (he doesn’t have a clear last memory of Jedha—it was just sand and confusion.

If this is his last stand, a bustling rebel base as his last scene of peace is not a bad way to go.)

And when Rebel Flight Command demands to know who they are, he looks around (rogues one and all) and decides.

“Rogue One,” he says.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Please comment/leave kudos!


End file.
